Roses In December
by Rhiannon A. Christy
Summary: Hiatus! Details inside! Nine years later Sarah has all but given up on ld and alone she unknowingly wonders into the boundries of the Underground's Frozen Queen.Captured and changed Jareth vows to melt her frozen heart,bringing her back to life.JS
1. Preface

Preface;

* * *

_Love is merely a madness…………_

It is said by some that to love is to be insane, to give our heart to another soul is foolish. You will be hurt, they spout. They will leave you broken and alone, they shout. And yet I am left to wonder those who speak such slanders against this feeling.

Is it that it is they who had their hearts ripped from their bodies, their souls beaten? Surely they speak un-truths from mouths that ne'er kissed lips of a lover. They bellow and screech declaring the inanity of love which they have never had the pleasure to feel.

For had they known the touch of a lover's hand, the taste of their kiss they would know that truly to love and lost is better than to have never loved at all.

And yet I wonder why so many scorn such a phrase. I have in my time loved and lost, I know the pain in which the heart experiences when they leave. I should side with those who proclaim madness, yet I find I would not part with the memories of her.

She refused me and beat my heart to dust, but I would not give away these thoughts of her for all the world. In my dreams she still lives, and should I loose her there I would surely die.

* * *

_God gave us memory so we could have roses in December……………….._

I often wonder if all this is a dream. If my life here in what people call the real world is in fact a fantasy and my real life is there with _Him._ Am I simply asleep, lying beside him in his bed and dreaming of this world filled with metal devices instead of magic.

That my place was in his arms and not in this old and dusty store in which I have resigned myself to work at.

But then I take a look around me. The cobwebs that hang in the corners, the dirt that clings to every surface. No, if this were only a dream I would have woken screaming before now. This is no nightmare, I am content at least to live here and in this way. But I wonder still if his world is no more a dream then this one.

Does he still watch me as I know he once did? Does he know I still think about him when I'm lonely? And does he understand why I left? I doubt he spares a thought for me anymore. It has been too many years, too long since I have called him or said his name aloud.

I survive knowing that at least I have the memories of him. Of his eyes and his voice. I survive, and only because I can dream.

* * *

_But Love is blind……….._

Does she still think of me?

**Does he know I'm still alive?**

Does she regret leaving?

**Does he still want me?**

Would she ever call my name?

**Could he forgive me?**

Does she know…….

**Does he Know……**

…………._**That I Love?**_

* * *

Author's Note: Have been planning this one out for some time, had wanted to start it months ago sadly took longer than I thought to finish "Swan" This one won't be as violent as the last. Going to try my hand again at a more emotional drama filled romance.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own.


	2. The Sound Of Silence

The Sound Of Silence;

* * *

Sarah pulled the heavy fabric closer to her chest, the wind whipping past her seemed to cut right through the thickly filled down coat. But she didn't mind, not really. She was on winter vacation with her parents and Toby, or that is to say her father, Karen and half-brother.

Oh she didn't hold the same grudges she once did against her stepmother and brother, no those had melted like the snow in spring many years ago. Back during a time when she still believed in magic, when she had seen fairies outside her windows. When she had actually been to a place most thought to be purely fantasy.

She shook her head, it was best not to think about it now. It had been just a little over nine years since she had been Underground, she had made her choice and there was no going back on it now.

The first few flakes of snow trickled down from the velvet sky, she had been waiting for them. The news had forecast flurries for this part of the mountains, a light dusting. She had waited in her room most of the evening after dinner. She sat quietly by the window as she listened to the laughter of her family telling stories in front of the fire. But she had stayed away.

It was not that she had wanted to distance herself from them, she never did. But somehow every vacation, every get together was the same. She would wait off to the side watching as they talked and enjoyed themselves. And she was content to do so.

It seemed that she was content with everything anymore, not actually happy but not depressed either. Just simply content.

Such a strange word, content, so misleading. Its true meaning to Sarah so hard to explain to people. She was merely fine with this life, nothing at all exciting.

The snow was starting to pick up, the cold white creating a soft blanket atop her head. She wondered if she stayed there long enough if she would look like some lumpy snowman from inside the cabin. Would her family even realize when they looked out that she was even there? Or would they see right past her?

If she left then, when their eyes moved over her, would they soon forget about her? Would they be like _Him_? Overtime just forgetting she had ever meant anything to them?

A shiver passed over her and she knew it was not from the cold. She had often had such thoughts, they came to her at the strangest times. She knew they should have frightened her, but they didn't. She couldn't say she felt any emotion from them, and that was what had scared her. She had become numb, cold like the snow she sat in.

Watching her family over the years she would imagine herself at Karen's age. Most young women would have visions of a loving husband, sweet faced children running over a well kept house. But not Sarah.

She was alone, alone and cold. The halls of her empty home echoing with the steps of a single occupant. Her womb slowly drying up and becoming barren, her heart turning to ice.

Yes, ice. Ice was cold and hard, it could numb all feelings. Even the fear those thoughts in themselves caused. Ice and snow, that was why she was there now. Sitting out in the deathly cold night.

She wanted to be numb, anything was better than that blasted content! She needed it, needed to be cold like ice. She could live cold, no one should ever have to live life lukewarm.

Looking up at the sky several powder white flakes stuck to her long lashes. She closed her eyes against the stinging, the warmth of her flesh melting the snow so it ran in small rivers down her cheeks. She curled up tighter under her coat, the snow was really blowing now.

She could feel it as it whipped around her still form, and yet she made no move to return to the safety of the cabin. She sat, and for what she wasn't sure. The snow had always had a voice of its own. She had heard it many times as a child. Whenever her heart ached, whenever sadness claimed her she would hear it sing just outside her window.

She wasn't going to ignore it this time, she wanted to listen to it. Listen to it and memorize its wordless song.

Two tears found their way past her lids, following the same path as the melted snow. She never felt them fall, never knew where they landed. All she could feel was the cold as it pried its way into her body.

The sky once black with night's inky velvet now seemed as white as a sheet with the whirlwind of the storm. The wind howled as it whipped this way and that, pelting wet snow at the cabin walls making them slick with ice.

The storm raged on for only a passing moment, but when the sky cleared and the crystal stars once again twinkled above only snow remained.

Sarah was gone.

* * *

Cold crisp air surrounded her body, filled her lungs and slowly began to creep into her bones. She wasn't sure where she was, the place was white-blue with ice and snow. She was reminded of winters when she was a child. Snow had a way of silencing everything it touched. And so it had where she now stood.

Her feet were bare as she padded along the frozen hall, it never crossed her mind to wonder where her clothing had gone. It simply seemed proper that she strode this corridor completely nude, allowing the frosted air to seep into her skin.

She never questioned the fact that she no longer felt the chill. Never questioned the blue tinge that crept over her flesh. It was normal, or so her mind kept repeating over and over as she turned down corners and into strange rooms.

Her once chocolate tresses frosted over, small ice crystals hanging here and there like small diamonds. Her lips that had flushed pink when she smiled now were painted deep blue. And her heart once passionate and beating stopped, frozen within crystal ice.

By the time she had turned the last corner she no longer resembled the once warm and living mortal, winter had finally claimed her.

Sarah welcomed her with open arms.

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open and stared blankly at the solid sheet of ice which made up the canopy of her bed. She could just make out the swirling patterns where the water had slowly flowed as it froze. It was beautiful.

A slow smile stretched across her pale blue lips before she finally decided to rise. Pushing back the thin white curtain she set her bare feet on the floor, the frost covered marble tickled her soles making her laugh quietly.

Her powder blue toes wriggled in the soft white frozen carpet, the chill of her skin not allowing it to melt at her touch.

She moved across the room like water on crystal till she reached the thin sheet of ice hung from one wall. It had been polished till it shined and one could see into it like a mirror. She smiled at the image of herself, frozen perfection.

The sheer blue robe which she wrapped around her body was more for show than warmth. She needed no warmth nor wanted it. This was her realm, this frozen kingdom. Fire and heat would never be desired, she was finally cold. Finally numb.

* * *

Sarah watched as her image appeared in the ice, somewhere in the back of her mind she was screaming. This wasn't right, she didn't belong there.

_But you did wish to be numb, did you not?_

A voice whispered to her, it was as chilling as the room in which she stood and as beautiful.

_You wanted to be cold. I have brought you here, granted that wish. Are not you grateful?_

The sound was like sitting in freezing water, it sent shivers up her spine.

_Where am I? _

Her own voice sounded much colder than she remembered it.

_You are home my Daughter. Do not be afraid, come…_

Sarah slipped a sheer robe over her shoulders and took a single step back.

_Come…_

As she turned and made her way down the hall the voice that was once Sarah was silenced.

Sarah was dead.

* * *

Delicate fingers tapped against the arms of the throne, their sharp tipped nails scratching into the thin layer of ice that covered the white marble. The owner of those fingers smiled wickedly, her other hand tracing her cold blue lips.

Hair like snow toppled down over her shoulder covering the curve of her breasts and flowing down to the floor from her knees. Her skin was the lightest blue, like powdered aquamarine and her eyes like frozen sapphire.

She breathed in taking the clean air into her lungs and sending a delightful chill through her bones. Her eyes scanned the room soon landing on the man standing before her.

"She is ready, send maid servants to tend to her. I want her looking her best when I meet with her." Rowan bowed slightly backing away from the throne to whisper instructions into the ears of two young women, sending them off to tend to the girl.

"It is done Your Majesty." The woman nodded her head before motioning Rowan toward her once more.

"I think it is time His Majesty the High King was to visit us again, wouldn't you say? Have scrolls drawn and sent out to the High King and Queen and every lower ruler and noble requesting their presence for a ball.

"We shall be celebrating the introduction of my daughter into society." Yes, it was time she returned to the social circles. Five hundred years was too long, way too long.

* * *

Author's Notes: I know the chapter is a bit short but I didn't want to mix it with the next one.

And a great big huggle to everyone who has already fav'd and watched this story, ya'll are sweethearts!


	3. Out Of Place

Out Of Place;

* * *

_There is a fine line between love and obsession. It is easy to cross these lines and still call it love. Morana, Queen of Blackmore Isle was an artist at it. _

_Morana was once a vibrant and beautiful woman, she had suitors from all over the Underground fighting for her hand. But none could catch her eye for she wanted only the attention of the High King Owain._

_Swearing that none other would have her, she sought to steal his heart. She visited the High Kingdom often and dined with the Royal Couple, but her attentions had been in vain. But the more Owain refused her advances the more she grew to love him. _

_She would go to him when he was alone and vow nightly that she would be forever his. _

_Three years passed before Owain was able to fend off her attentions, but Morana refused to relinquish what hold she believed she had on the High King and soon plotted the demise of her rival, Freya the High Queen. _

_Her assassin captured, Owain planned to dethrone the Queen of Blackmore and execute her for treason. Taking pity on the poor woman Freya convinced her husband to spare the young fae._

_Instead Owain cursed Morana and her kingdom. Blackmore Isle and its Queen and people would live frozen until the day Morana gave her heart to another besides the High King._

_It has been five hundred years since Blackmore Isle went into their frozen exile and their Queen still refuses to love any other._

* * *

Opulent, opulent and cold. This was the only way Jareth could describe Rosebourgh Palace. As a boy he had known Rosebourgh when it had been warm white marble. Ivy of the deepest green grew thickly over the outer walls. Roses for which the palace had taken its name, had bloomed from every corner.

The sun had heated the courtyard and bright fires had lighted the halls and chambers. It had been alive and warm like a breathing thing. But now as he walked through the gates he mourned for its death. Morana's foolishness had sent the kingdom into eternal winter. Ice and snow covered everything, nothing was left untouched. Even the rose bushes that had once been heavily dappled with crimson blooms were shriveled and cast in crystal ice.

"You know Father, I am at a loss as to why we are even here. If I remember right Morana tried to kill Mother. I am not sure if it is normal to attend the party of the mad woman who wanted to murder your wife." Jareth spoke quietly, his soft voice echoing around them.

"Don't be obtuse Jareth, a mad woman or not she is still a queen of the Underground. We have an obligation to be here." Rolling his eyes Owain expressed his dislike for being there just as much as his son.

"Owain! I think it would be prudent of you not to call our hostess a mad woman while in her castle!" Freya carefully elbowed her husband in the ribs. It wouldn't do for anyone to see her hitting the High King.

"Don't be a prude Freya, I do believe those were your words this morning when we set off. Actually if I remember correctly it was; _'The frigid ice queen of the north; no better than some tawdry snow witch in a fancy frock; the perfect mad woman.'" _Jareth laughed at the pink tint that rose in his Mother's cheeks.

"I must say Mother, you were in rare form this morning." Freya pursed her lips trying to hide the smile that was threatening to creep forth.

"Shush, I never said not to call her such, just not while we are in her home. She is our hostess for the next week whether we like it or not and we should at least set an example to the rest of our subjects." Jareth's smile fell as he gazed around him, Blackmore Isle used to be so alive. It was hard to see it as it was now.

"Quite, though that brings me to another question. I had thought the curse which Father put Morana under froze her womb. How is it she has come by a daughter?" He trailed a finger along one wall, one of the hand woven tapestries from Granesheld had once covered the finely cut marble. Now a sheet of ice a foot thick distorted the fine lines of gold in the delicate stone.

"There are other ways to procure an heir, you of all people should know that. I do believe it was you who had tried to claim a mortal boy instead of marrying." Minding that he kept up his smooth stride he looked ahead ignoring the last bit his father said.

"You think she has stolen a child from Above?" Freya looked almost sick at the idea. She knew her son took mortal children, but as Goblin King it was his duty. Not to mention the children were unwanted, and if not Jareth gave them a chance to win them back. Morana had no such agreement, if she chose a child Freya doubted it had been wished away.

"I know she has. I do not have any details, but her activity Above has increased these past ten years and just before she sent her announcement she just stopped." Most fae, especially nobility, had access to the Aboveground. For some it was simply a matter of having a bit of fun playing harmless tricks on the mortals. For those such as his son it was because of his position as Goblin King and his obligation to take unwanted children.

But those like Morana found pleasure in tormenting those she deemed weak and unworthy. Owain regretted not closing the veil to her and others like her.

It was surprising, but not unexpected that she would take an heir. The curse did not render her immortal, in fact it most likely shortened her life.

"The child, will she be taken by the curse as well?" The pinched look on her husband's face was enough for Freya. Morana had just damned a child, and it was of their making.

* * *

Jareth leaned back against the head of his bed, or what he figured was a bed at least. The whole thing had been carved from a single sheet of ice and covered with a few white fur pelts. He presumed the fur had been a last thought as they looked hastily tossed atop the ice block.

He knew the people of Blackmore had no need for warmth, had they not been so vain he figured clothing would have been nonexistent on the isle. As it was everyone he had met so far had been draped in thin cloth that left nothing to the imagination. The sight of his man servants in their robes had been one he would have rather had not been blessed with.

His fingers toyed with a crystal, the perfect sphere rolling back and forth across palm and back of hand. He considered briefly changing his room to resemble his chambers back in the Goblin Castle, sadly he discarded this idea after unsuccessfully trying to modify a chair. His father's curse was rather thorough.

He frowned at the crystal that now balanced atop his steepled fingers. Something had been bothering him lately though he had little clue what. He was troubled and it was disconcerting being unable to understand his discomfort. It was as though a voice deep within his mind was yelling at him from a great distance and no matter how hard he tried to focus in on the sound all he could make out was some mumbled words that made little sense.

"Your Majesty, it is time to prepare for evening meal." Eallair stepped into the room with little noise. Jareth tried to ignore the servant and his disturbing attire. Back in the Labyrinth he was waited on by mainly maids and the occasional goblin. He wasn't all that fond of male company, at least not the fae variety. The men of his race were just as concerned about fashion and cosmetics as the women. It was bothersome to say the least, even if he was the last person to say anything. Or so his mother always loved to point out.

"I hope you do not expect me to wear one of those robes." He allowed himself a quick glance at the fae, though keeping his eyes planted firmly at chest and face only. His expression alone was enough to show his disgust of the garment.

"Oh no Your Majesty, we understand that you need….protection…from the cold. Her Majesty has provided appropriate attire for all her guests." Eallair stumbled over the word _protection_ as though the idea was foreign. Strange that these people had forgotten that they too had once had need of heat.

"I see. Well we wouldn't want to keep Her Majesty waiting now would we?" Eallair worked to control the involuntary shiver that ran through his spine. The Goblin King had spoken with more chill in his voice than the ice of the chamber.

* * *

Morana tapped her fingers against the cold china before her. She enjoyed watching her guests and their obvious unease with her state. She sat before them at the great table looking over past the High King and Queen to the gentry below the raised dais.

Her frosted eyes grazed over cringing faces as she ran one delicately sharp nail across the edge of her plate. The screeching sound was only intensified by the vaulted ceiling of the dinning hall.

Morana might have been a fool when she set her sights on the High King, but she was still every inch the cruel queen she had been five hundred years ago. She knew how to maniplate people into behaving as she pleased. And at the moment what pleased her was the tense atmosphere in the room. She wanted them to feel as much unease as she could inflict without actually commencing executions at the eveing meal.

She had been ostracize by these people for hundreds of years. If they thought she would make this easy on them they had another thing coming.

"Is not your _heir_ to be joining us this evening?" Sharp blue eyes snapped towards the young fae sitting beside the High King. She looked him up and down sneering as she did so. The little welp had the nerve to address her so informally!

"My daughter is resting. She wished to wait until the ball before revealing herself." She took a moment to take a sip of wine.

"And I would remind you of who's court you are visiting Sir. You will address me with the title my position demands." The fae narrowed his eyes till only slits remained. Morana watched in fascination as his lips pressed so tightly together they actually turned white.

"And I would remind you of who you are addressing. Would not the son of the High King and Keeper of the Labyrinth be shown more respect by one of lower birth?" Son of the High King? Ah yes, Jared or something or other. So the little flaxen haired prince had become the Goblin King.

"I beg your pardon Your Majesty. It has been many years since I have seen you and you have grown considerably since then. Please do forgive me for my error and arrogance." She bowed her head and resumed her meal. She would have to watch that one. He seemed little concerned with her and not at all ill at ease. If there was one thing that Morana hated more than anything was what was beyond her control, and this Goblin King was exactly that.

Jareth clenched his hands under the table willing himself to calm down before he reached across from him and strangled the damnable woman. He knew the games of the Court well, better than she even. He lost count of how many times he had used the same cold demeanor to inflict discomfort in his guests. It was an effective way of outing secrets. But what had this one any need for the secrets of the Fae Court?

He cut a small slice from the cold meat on his plate and placed it at the edge of his mouth, tentatively taking it in. It was bitter and left the stale tang of old blood on his tongue. Moving the remaining portion of meat around the plate he noticed the wet glisten and realized too late that what he was eating was raw as well as half way frozen.

He felt his stomach churn and turned quickly to the wine in the ice goblet before him. At least it was drinkable. Maybe a little too dry for his tastes, but he would rather drink bog water than have to take another bite of the offending meal in front of him.

It seemed that he was not the only one who thought such. He watched with a grin as his parents moved their own food around as if contemplating whether or not it could be considered an attempt on their life. By the Fates he couldn't remember the last time he had a meal so badly made.

Looking down at his plate once more he settled on trying at least to get through the vegetables, cold though they be.

* * *

"This is ridiculous! If this that what she considers high dining I fear for what the commoners are fed." A low laugh filled the room around Jareth at his ranting. Owain leaned back against the wall watching his son pace back and forth before the bed. He could remember back when the elegant king before him had been nothing more than a pint sized prince.

Jareth had always been one of his favorite children. His laugh grew a little louder as he pictured the boy as he had been at seven, no taller than his hip with a head full of white blonde hair. Even back then he had been a mischievous little imp always getting into trouble.

The High King's brows furrowed and his amused laugh hushed. Jareth could get wound up over the silliest things but he had the uneasy feeling his son's current disquiet had nothing to do with Morana and her ghastly tastes in cuisine.

"Jareth, what is bothering you? Surely a little undercooked meat couldn't have you this troubled?" Slumping down into his chair Jareth conjured a crystal rolling it across the backs of his hands.

"Undercooked? Raw is what I believe you mean Father. But no it is far from this inane woman's attempt at a feast. The fact is I'm not sure what is wrong. Something is just out of place." Owain watched the practiced movement of his son, it was a talent learned not from him but his wife. He had little talent with crystal magic. He came from a long line of Elemental Fae and because of this his powers were limited. His wife on the other hand had the blood of the Old Ones running through her veins, she like the rest of her family could manipulate their magic in ways that seemed impossible to most. So far Jareth was the only one of their children who could control their magic the same as she.

"Out of place? Here?" The crystal faltered for a moment before continuing in its smooth movements.

"This place is definitely out of place, but no that is not what I mean. There is something not quite right and I'm not sure what. I felt it before I left the Labyrinth. It is like I'm missing something and yet I have no clue what it could be.

"How can a part of you be misplaced and you can't even tell what part it is?" The crystal spun in place over his right hand before the twist of a wrist brought it to his palm.

"You are beginning to sound like your mother and I'm not sure it is such a good thing. Cryptic, the both of you. You would put the Sages of our world to shame with the riddles you both can weave." One crystal became two as Jareth twirled them in his hand.

"Sadly I do agree with you. The thing is this particular riddle remains as such to me as well. I can not explain it better than I already have Father. This thing, whatever it is, is missing or out of place and I am unsure what to do.

"It nags at me like a growing itch behind the eyes. It irritates and bothers and I swear that it will soon drive me insane." With no sound at all the crystals popped out of existence leaving Jareth's hand open towards his father.

"I think you should talk to your mother. She is much better at this sort of thing." He noticed with dismay the lost look upon his son's face. Jareth had always been the more delicate of his children. He wore his heart on his sleeve where anyone could reach out and take it. It had cost his son dearly not that long ago.

A mortal girl with eyes like wet emeralds and hair that toppled down her back like molten chocolate. He had seen the child once and he couldn't blame his son for falling. But it had cost him in the end. The same stubbornness and strength which had drawn him to her had been his undoing. Before this conversation Owain had begun to believe his son had finally started to repair the damage she had caused. Somehow he was sure there were still a few more fractures.

"It is getting late, I should return to your mother before she starts imagining that Morana has chained me to her bed." A soft chuckle and a smile wiped the look of despair from Jareth's face.

"I wouldn't put it past that woman." A shudder crawled up Owain's spine. He wouldn't either. That woman was scarier than the Night-Trolls of the Labyrinth.

"Sadly you are quiet correct. Until tomorrow, goodnight Son and sleep well." He quirked his lips in a soft smile.

"Goodnight Father."

* * *

Author's Note: I know not much happening in this chapter, but don't worry things start moving in the next one.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it so do't even think it.


	4. You Only See What Your Eyes Want To See

You Only See What Your Eyes Want To See;

* * *

Owain watched as small hands fingered through the toppling mass of scarlet hair of the woman across from him. Her pale flesh unblemished and smooth like cream. Her eyes like deep jade and lips like coral. There was not another beauty in all the Underground that could even compare to his Freya, his wife and Queen.

She had an elegance that rivaled all others, a grace that most envied. Many of their children had her ruby tresses and shinning eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. They lacked her grace and poise, that fluidity in her mannerisms that left people in awe.

Only one ever inherited this refinement, Jareth. The boy may have looked so much like his father, but he was his mother in every other way. His magic, his self-confidence, and his frailty of the heart had all come from his mother.

Owain's train of thought was disrupted as the fur beneath him shifted. The small hands that had moments before been caressing hair as soft as silk now ran slowly over his chest in wide circles. Faint breath drifted across his neck and into his flaxen hair sending tingling goose bumps over his body.

He moved down into the heavy blankets taking his beautiful wife with him. For a few silent moments they both lay unmoving in each other's arms, Freya's head resting on her husband's chest. Though they both hid it well the trip to Blackmore Isle was troubling them.

"What were you speaking with Jareth about? You were gone an awful long while." She stopped the movement of her hand long enough to extend a single finger which she used to trace imaginary patterns over the thick shirt he had worn to bed.

"I really wish I could just say we were discussing the unpleasant meal this evening." Freya sat up hovering over her husband, her long hair framing each side of his face.

"What's wrong?" Owain reached a hand up to cup his wife's face, his other holding tightly around her waist.

"I'm not sure, he doesn't even know. He says that something feels out of place, like something is missing but he isn't sure what it is. Freya I have never seen our son look like he did when he spoke with me. He looked almost…almost scared." His thumb stroked back and forth across her cheek tracing the curving bone from nose to temple.

"I told him to talk to you. I won't even pretend to understand these things." Sitting up Freya slipped from the bed quickly tying up the heavy tapestry robe around her petite frame. Owain watched as she slid on her slippers and headed for the door.

"Freya, surely this could wait until morning. Let the boy sleep, by the looks of him he needs it." Hand pressed against the frozen wood she looked back towards her husband.

"Owain this is important. Just sleep, I may be some time." With that she pushed her way out into the halls leaving the High King cold and above all worried.

* * *

The room was quiet, nothing but the soft sound of breathing filled the chamber. It rose and descended like ocean waves on a silent beach. If one hadn't been paying attention they would have believed the owner of the sound had been fast asleep. Freya knew better.

Jareth from an early age had learned to control his breathing, an effective calming method. Also a very effective way to feign sleep. Owain and Jareth's siblings were always fooled so easily. None of them had yet to learn to keep quiet at all times around the boy when it pertained to secrets.

"Come in Mother, standing in the doorway does not become the High Queen." Freya slipped in allowing the heavy door to shut behind her.

"I was wondering how long you were going to allow me to stand there." Jareth chuckled softly though the sound held no mirth.

"Yes well, I was wondering when you would be coming. A little late, I was expecting you an hour ago." Sweeping the robe over her legs, Freya sat down across from the bed facing her son.

"I would have had your Father thought to tell me what you said when he returned. But you know the way he is, it took me inquiring about it before he thought to say anything." Jareth remained lying on his back staring up at the icy canopy of his bed. His hands were folded neatly across his chest, his thumbs slowly moving back and forth in the only visible display of unease.

"Jareth, what is going on?" She watched as her son took in a deep breath of the frigid air, his eyes still locked on the point above him.

"I wish I knew. Something is out of place. The last time I felt this way was when…was…" He trailed off, his arms moving to rest behind his head.

"Was when that girl bested you, you mean?" Jareth shot up from the bed, the boots that he still wore tapping along the hard floor as he paced before his mother.

"She didn't best me, she left me! I had prepared everything for her, all she had to do was stay. I could have stopped her speaking at any moment, but I wanted her to choose me!" He had so desperately wanted her to stay because she wanted to, because she choose him over the boy. He had planned on shutting her up, a well timed kiss would have silenced her until the clock chimed. But no he had been the sentimental fool believing she would actually choose him.

"Be that as it may, I am more concerned about the present. Do you know if anything has happened to this girl?" Jareth shook his head, the fine blonde strands fluttering around his face.

"The last time I checked in on her she was fine. She works in some old store and has a few friends. What does Sarah have to do with any of this?" Why was his mother bringing up old wounds? It had been years since he had lost his mortal girl, he had believed he had shut away all feelings for her long ago. He had stopped watching her last winter, stopped trying to influence her dreams. Was that not proof that he had moved on? If so then why did the mention of her name make his heart feel like it was being wrenched from his chest?

"It could be nothing Jareth, but the girl spent a good many hours in your Labyrinth. You let her into your heart, my Dear, surely you remember your lessons.

"You are a child of the old magic, a magic that unlike that of your father's is tied to your heart, irrevocably. By letting her in as you did you made her a piece of you." She had hoped when Jareth showed signs of being able to control the old magic that it would help to shape him into a better man. She regretted at times training him, as with all the old magic has a will of its own. Now what was suppose to be a blessing had become his curse. The old magic would never allow Jareth to forget Sarah or let her go.

"But I am not a piece of her. Such is my life." He leaned his head against one of the bed posts, the cold ice not even becoming slick from the warmth of his skin.

"Sadly no, she possess none of the magic which runs through your veins. Without it no matter how far she let you in she would hold not one grain of your being in her.

"Jareth I have to ask this. Is this feeling one of something of yourself dying?" Jareth shuddered at the thought. Sarah dead? He never wished to think on it.

"Not exactly. Nothing is missing per se, more displaced. Like it is just out of my reach, just beyond my sight." So the girl was at least not dead, but something was up. Whether it be her son's mortal or not.

"Mother?" Jareth had turned to watch as Freya stood and walked to the door.

"Get some sleep my Son, there is nothing I can do tonight. Be content with the knowledge that your Sarah is alive. Once this week is over I will return with you to the Goblin City and together we will figure this out. But now, we have a busy day tomorrow so rest and I will see you upon the morn.

"Goodnight my child."

* * *

The night turned out to be anything but good for Jareth. It had not been the block of ice that the people of Blackmore considered an appropriate bed or the below freezing temperature of the room. These things could be fixed with the addition of a few more fur pelts and a heavy nightshirt. No, what had ended up causing distress were the nightmares that plagued his slumber.

Staring down at the plate of pastries he had been able to conjure for his morning meal he worked through his dreams. His mother had been teaching him since he was a small child the ways of the old magic. Those who used it lived, loved, thought, breathed and dreamed differently than other fae.

He placed a small cream biscuit in his mouth chewing slowly as he conjured the first image he could remember.

He had felt cold, not just cold physically but emotionally. Nothing he could think about made him happy, yet nothing could make him upset either. It was a strange feeling, almost like numbness.

In the light of morning that idea bothered him, but in the dream he seemed to welcome it, seek it out in fact.

The soft fragrant taste of the vanilla in the biscuit rolled around his tongue mixing with the chilly air which he breathed. He placed another at his lips as he picked apart the next scene.

White, everything around him had been white. The sky, the ground, the clothes which he wore. It was a comfort to him, this blankness. Now as he thought on it he realized how sad it had been, it was not the cleanliness of this non-color that had attracted him but the barren emptiness. In the dream he had wanted to wrap that nothing around him and remain in it until he died.

He wiped at the corners of his mouth and pushed his plate a few inches away. The more he thought on the dream the less he felt like eating. He was finally getting to the part where it had turned from simply bothersome to disturbing.

He could still remember the coldness seep into his skin replacing all the heat. It was a strange feeling and had little to do with the freezing of his flesh. It had seemed like he had been watching from a distance as he was slowly frozen. He had somewhere in the depths of his mind known that what was happening was wrong but outwardly he accepted it with open arms. He had allowed it to move into his heart and body slowly killing who he was.

The feeling of cold amusement at his own death was what had finally awoken him, a cold sweat covering his body.

He rested his head in his hands groaning. Even after going over it while he was awake he still couldn't understand it. Maybe it was just this place, there was definitely something disconcerting about Blackmore Isle.

* * *

"Are you sure Your Majesty that this is the best idea?" Morana looked down her nose straight into the icy eyes of her Steward.

"Lord Rowan I fail to see why you believe you have even the smallest right to question me on these matters. You are Steward of Rosebourgh Palace yes, but I do believe that it is I who holds the crown. I would suggest that in the future you keep this in mind." Rowan's hands curled into fists behind his back. Morana was as cold in personality as her skin was. She had never been a particularly warm woman, even before the curse.

There had been a time when he had fancied himself in love with her, now whenever he looked upon her all he felt was disgust. She had a twisted heart frozen solid in a lump of opaque black ice. Even if one was able to melt it they would be left holding a sticky thick sludge.

"I am sorry Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect. I was only expressing concern about your daughter. It hasn't been that long since you brought her here. I am simply worried that the change has not been complete." The quick change from anger to haughtiness on the Queen's face was remarkable. The woman could go from murderous to the height of arrogance and back in a matter of seconds.

"Be assured nothing will go wrong. The change is complete, introducing her to the Court will just reinforce the false memories which I planted.

"Now go, you are dismissed." Rowan took a few steps back as he bowed before turning and exiting as quickly as he could without being rude. He just hoped she was right. If this girl were to remember anything Morana could be in even deeper trouble than she already was. The High King did not take too kindly to the abuse of mortals. And this definitely counted as abuse.

* * *

Thick leather boots clicked against the cold marble, the chill of the floor easily penetrating the black hide. The owner of these boots took an uneasy step forward to stand beside the High King. The whole of the chamber quieted at the echoing of the Steward's cane against the floor. Eyes like ice mixed amongst the various hues in the room, all of them staring at the three figures before them.

"Their Majesties the High King Owain and his wife the High Queen Freya!" Lord Rowan's voice boomed, bouncing off the walls of the chamber like the heavy beat of a drum. Taking a step both Owain and his wife waited for the Steward to announce the presence of their son before descending.

"His Majesty King Jareth of the Goblins; Keeper of the Labyrinth; and Prince of the High Kingdom!" Jareth groaned under his breath. It seemed as though his title got longer with each of these exasperating balls. Though he supposed he should be grateful, his older sister Nesta had no less then ten titles. Not that he felt any pity for her, it was her own fault for seating herself on the religious throne of Ariane.

"I can't believe the nerve of this woman! You would think she was the one ruling the Underground." Jareth barely moved his mouth as he murmured to his parents. He knew Morana was disrespectful, but to disregard tradition so blatantly was insulting.

"I have never known Morana to observe tradition, mostly when ignoring it would bring her more attention." All eyes watched as the royal family as they descended the large marble stairs, the three working hard not to slip on the ice and topple to their deaths. No one noticed the slight movement of their mouths as they spoke, or the roll of the Goblin King's eyes. And even if they did no one would dare comment on it.

"To be expected of course, but to deliberately insult the High Kingdom by not following this tradition should be unforgivable." Freya bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her son was intelligent to be sure, but being a Prince of the High Kingdom afforded him little understanding of the lower classes.

"Do not be affronted my Son, Morana is simply _'putting us in our place'_ so to speak. By disregarding custom and showing up after the High King she is asserting her position as Queen and ruler of Blackmore Isle.

"She wants the Underground to know who is in power here. Rest assured Jareth her little display is more comical than anything. Your father is High King and unless she wishes to try and contest this, tonight is little more than an amusing play.

"For my part I am looking forward to seeing how this act proceeds." Owain let out the slightest of laughs as they made their way to the last step and began to move towards the raised dais where five thrones sat for both the High and Blackmore Royal families.

"Of course you would think that way My Dear. You never could resist a good bit of gossip." Freya smirked towards her husband, nothing ever got past the man.

"That I do my Husband. I am reminded of a mortal saying, I am sure Jareth has heard it.

"_All the world's a stage, and all the men and women are merely players._" Gently taking her seat she nodded towards the landing above the stairs from which they had come.

"Ah and here comes our star for the evening." The whispers which had started buzzing through the chamber at the unusual disreguard of custom quickly silenced at the appearance of Queen Morana and a woman Jareth had figured was her daughter.

"Her Majesty; Queen Morana of Blackmore Isle and her daughter The Princess Gwyneira!" All eyes focused on the pair on the landing above the stairs. Morana looked much like every other inhabitant of Blackmore, skin like ocean water, eyes like sapphires. Her hair falling to the floor in a torrent of snow white tresses and body draped in fabric so thin nothing was left to the imagination.

Gwyneira on the other hand stood like an ice nymph, a lady of the frozen lake. Her skin was powder blue and shimmered with frost giving the illusion she had been painted with diamond dust. Her hair unlike the white and grays that surrounded her was a deep brown and cascaded down her back showing off shining ice crystals.

She wore a dress of thin white silk that had been wrapped in a style reminiscent of a stola, tied beneath her breasts with a ribbon of blue. Jareth let his eyes travel from the thin white sandles on her feet to her face. He was surprised when instead of finding the elegant face he had expected he found himself staring at the sharp edges of a mask.

The princess wore a half mask shaped like the eyes and beak of a bird. Looking over the crowd the young woman smirked, her lips turning just enough to show her amusment at the reaction to her appearance. No one spoke as the two descended the stairs making their way to the dais, all were too busy watching the new princess.

Jareth's attention never wavered, never moved from the form of Gwyneira. Something jerked within him, some small memory pulled for him to take notice. But as he reached for it he found it to far and was unable to hold onto it.

This woman who was confidently walking towards him seemed so familiar to him, but he could not place her. Two steps more and she was standing before him in a low curtsy waiting for him to acknowledge her. He cleared his throat setting his face in a look of kind indifference.

"Good evening Princess, it is pleasant to make your acquaintance at last." He bowed briefly and extended his hand. She eyed the proffered hand before gently slipping her smaller one within his and standing straight.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. It is a pleasure to meet you as well, I have heard much from my Mother and have long wished to know you." The smirk returned ten fold when she saw the furrowed brow that made its way past Jareth's notice.

Something was wrong, he could feel it. Or actually he could see it. He knew that all the people of Blackmore had eyes like blue ice, but when he looked into the deep azure orbs of Gwyneira he felt a stab of inappropriateness. This wasn't right, he knew for some strange reason that she wasn't suppose to have eyes this color. But he could not say why he knew this.

Before he could voice another word she had slid her hand from his and moved to take her seat beside him. He felt his father's hand come to rest on his shoulder and sat down as well. He had expected the evening to proceed much as every royal function did, at least like every other Debut Ball he had been to.

Instead Morana ignored every custom, opting to simply sit in her throne and let the festivities begin on their own.

For sometime Jareth sat back and watched as the nobles of the Underground danced, talked and laughed through the evening. He had spoken a few times with his father, even murmured a couple of sentences with his mother. He had not spoken to Gwyneira.

She made him uncomfortable, made the itch behind his eyes almost unbearable. He knew as the son of the High King he would at some point have to make an effort to be sociable with the woman, but until it was absolutely necessary he would sit there.

He tapped a finger on his cheek, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Below him he could see a few of his youngest siblings dancing and having fun. He cursed his two older sisters and brother for claiming reasons for not being able to come.

"Jareth, I know this is far from the place you wish to be at the moment, but I think it is time you start pretending you are at least enjoying yourself." Owain's whisper was harsh as he spoke from the corner of his mouth. It had been a good hour or more and he had been having to put up with the inane conversation with Morana while his son sat there looking like he couldn't be any more bored. If he had to be unconfertable, so did his son.

Jareth plastered a large fake smile across his face, his sharp teeth showing brightly from his peach lips.

"That better Father?" Freya could be heard from Owain's side as she tried to stifle a laugh. Owain on the other hand just pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not exactly, just stop that would you! You are scaring the children. No, what I meant was for you to ask the Princess to dance." The false smile fell instantly from his face.

"I would rather just sit here thank you." Silence fell before Owain set his hand on his son's.

"I wasn't asking. You don't have to dance with her all night, there are plenty of your cousins as well as your sisters to keep you company for the rest of the ball. But you need to make an effort. Come on Jareth, it's not like she isn't pretty. I think she is quite beautiful in fact." Jareth groaned before standing up mumbling under his breath, _"I never said she wasn't beautiful…"_

He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

"Princess Gwyneira, may I have this dance?" Eyes as blue as the deepest depths of the ocean looked unblinking through the white edges of a mask, they seemed to pierce straight through Jareth and he had a hard time keeping the gasping breath from escaping his throat.

He barely heard the soft voice that drifted past his ears or noticed the small hand that had curled itself in his own until the sharp cough behind him. He peeked back to find his parents with raised eyebrows and poorly hidden smiles. It was then he finally realized he had been standing there just staring.

"Shall we?" He motioned towards the floor and slowly descended down off the dais, princess in hand.

Her small body fit perfectly against his, as though the curves of her form had been carved just for him. He slid a hand down to rest against the small of her back, his hand splaying open to hold her tighter. Her flesh was cold as death and sent chills up through his arms and down his spine, but now that he had her in his arms he refused to let go.

Slowly they swayed to the soft music, their bodies floating across the iced marble floor so perfectly all who stopped to watch had to question if the two had always danced together.

Gwyneira slipped a hand up his shoulder to play with the ends of his hair that seemed to move to a dance all their own. He could almost see the hint of a smile grace her pale blue lips, but it was her eyes that kept him occupied.

Looking deeply within the azure he could only see the image of emeralds in water, wet with warm tears. Eyes that could capture him and hold him forever in their glowing orbs. This was why the blue was so out of place, this cold nymph resting so intimately against his chest was meant to have eyes so wet and green they would halt your breath.

His fingers itched to pull the mask from her face just gaze upon her unhindered, but as he reached up she clasped her hand around his own and brought it back behind her.

"Not yet Your Majesty, in time." No more was said, the two danced on as though they were the only ones in the room.

* * *

"You are a magnificent dancer, Your Majesty. I want to thank you for entertaining me this evening. Most of the Blackmore Court are intimidated by me and had you not asked I would have been doomed to spend the evening sitting, or the Fates help me, dancing with Lord Rowan." Jareth chuckled under his breath. He remembered Rowan from when he was a boy, even before the curse he was dull. He wouldn't wish the man's company on his enemies.

"I am glad I could be of service Gwyneira." He leaned back against the railing of the balcony they were currently standing on. Despite his earlier protestations Jareth spent most of the ball dancing with the young princess. Her presence was still disconcerting, just one look into her eyes made the itch he had complained of earlier grow. Regardless of this he found himself loath to part with her company.

"Your Majesty, please call me Eira. Gwyneira is too formal I think for such an intimate setting." The small smile that graced her lips seemed familiar and yet so different at the same time.

"I do believe you are right. In that case I would ask you to call me Jareth, though I would warn against addressing me as such in front of anyone else. Most others of the Court are much more formal than myself." He lifted an arm so he could run one gloved finger over the edge of her mask.

"Why do you hide yourself?" Eira slid her hand around his wrist but did not make to move it away, instead held it firmly in place.

"It was an idea of my mother's. She has a love for the dramatic, she is always trying to come up with an idea that will shock others. This was her lastest, hide the identity of the princess at her own Debut Ball. She thought it would be funny." Never letting go of his wrist she stepped into his embrace keeping her eyes locked with his.

"Hilarious. You know as the Prince of the High Kingdom I could order you to remove it." She smirked and let go of his arm, placing both of her hands on his hips.

"Or I could just let you." His eyes glued to her's he placed his hands at the edges of her mask and slowly drew it up over her head letting it drop to the floor.

His heart felt like it had ceased to beat and his body grew even colder. Without the white leather to distract him from her features he could make out everything. He suddenly knew why she felt so familiar, why her eyes brought memories of wet emeralds.

"S-Sarah?"

* * *

Author's Notes: Gah this chapter was annoying to write. I had a hard time moving from the last chapter into the ball, but I hope I pulled it off and it sounds good.

Ok now I had three different voices in my head telling me how to end this chapter; One said to have Jareth pull the mask off during the dance, the second to wait to reveal Sarah till the next chapter, and the most evil of the voices telling me to do this little cliffie. I won't say sorry for any cliffies I write in this or any other stories cause frankly I enjoy writing them. You can yell at scream at me all ya want for them though.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, if ya think I own it then ya need to get your head checked.


	5. Of Love And Hate

Of Love And Hate;

* * *

He thought he would be sick, he could already feel the bile rise to settle in his throat. The bitter acid creeping along his tongue. Sarah, _his Sarah_, was standing in his embrace, cold and blue like frozen death. His fingers curled tightly within her chocolate tresses till she gave silent cries at the pain he caused. But her whimpers went unnoticed, all his attention was on the false colored eyes as he desperately tried to wrap his brain around what it was he was seeing.

Tears fell from her eyes, splashing cold and wet onto the tips of the Goblin King's boots. A strangled cry escaped Jareth's throat, like the dying howl of a wolf. He laid his forehead against the Princess', slowly breathing in her scent. It was so much the same and yet so different than he remembered it to be.

Growing angry he clutched her hair till she was almost screaming in pain, than with as much force as he could muster he thrust her from his arms. Eira landed hard against the frozen marble, her cold eyes shining wet with fearful tears. She watched as Jareth bent to pick up the mask which she had wore throughout the evening.

His fingers traced the sharp lines as though memorizing each curve. A sneer moved across his face, one filled with anger and pain, one that confused Eira even more. Without looking at her he tossed the piece of leather into her lap.

"Put your mask back on _Princess,_ and leave me. I don't ever want to see you again." When she made no move to leave he turned on her, his eyes burning with such anger Eira could feel it blistering her soul.

_**"GO!"**_Quickly she slipped the mask back over her face and scrambled up off the floor running as quickly as she could back towards the ball.

Flustered and confused she ran past her mother and the High King and Queen exiting out into the great hall that lead to the throne room. A strangled scream proceeded the entrance of the Goblin King. A cold and haunting cry that echoed pain and sorrow. His normally smiling face was flushed red with rage, the corners of his eyes glistening wet with unshed tears. The crowd parted quickly as he stormed his way to the stairs, his eyes never stopping to glance at anyone around him.

No one spoke for some time after he left, it wasn't until the quiet _huff_ from Morana that the silence was broken.

"And just what was that? I will have you know I…" Her voice trailed off at the sight of Owain's eyes.

"We have played along thus far, Morana, with your pitiful games. But listen to me for I will only say this once, should you not heed my warning I will exact punishment.

"We have allowed you your fun tonight, but do not think you have the right to demand anything from Myself or my family. Out of all the Underground your kingdom is the most insignificant, you are the lowest ruler, not to mention on probation.

"Should I find you insubordinate again you will find out just how inconsequential you and your little isle are." Standing from his seat he reached out for his Queen before turning back to Morana.

"I think the evening has drawn to a close. I suggest you and your guests retire for the night, it has been an eventful and entertaining evening." He bowed slightly with mock respect and swept from the hall gracefully, his Queen in hand.

* * *

"**Jareth!** What was going through your head when you….." Owain stopped short as his eyes laid upon the figure of his son. He had been thoroughly upset by the display in the dance hall and intended to give his son a tongue lashing, but now standing just inside the doorway to Jareth's chambers he thought better of it.

Jareth for his part could hardly think or speak. Anger, hatred and confusion warred within him for dominance. He, for the first time in his life, wanted blood. He had always had a temper on him, he could even get pretty violent when riled up sufficiently. But he had never once in his life wanted to kill, and now only the fear of banishment kept him from rushing back into the ball and ripping Morana limb from limb.

Grabbing the bowl beside his bed that held various fruits, he threw it across the room barely missing his father. He stood still, blinking rapidly, trying to calm his breathing. The two remained silent for some time, the first sound finally made when Freya entered, closing the door behind her.

"Sit down, the both of you." Both father and son spoke not a word as they complied. Both wary of igniting the fury of the woman before them.

"Now, Jareth care to tell us what that little display of your's and the Princess' was all about?" Though posed as a question, no one would deny the command in the High Queen's voice.

"That was no princess!" He offered no explanation for the hissed words, whether he couldn't or simply refused neither mother nor father knew.

"I never thought you to be a hypocrite Jareth. The fact is that in Morana's eyes that girl is, she is just as entitled to name a mortal an heir as you are. You don't have to like it, by the Fates I don't, but because she has claimed it, Gwyneira is…" Jareth sneered at his father upon hearing that cursed name. Standing before his parents he threw the chair back against the floor with a resounding crash.

"Sarah! Her name is _**Sarah!**_" Freya laid a firm hand on her husband's shoulder, squeezing slightly in order to stall his next words. Pieces of the puzzle she and her son the night before were trying to solve were beginning to fall into place. The picture becoming clearer with every word uttered from her son's mouth.

"Owain, I think you should go back to our chambers, I have need to speak with Jareth alone." He looked up at his wife with furrowed brows. He loved her with all his heart, but sometimes he wondered about the woman. There was a strange connection between her and their son that he thoroughly did not understand, and he found it bothered him more than he normally let on.

"Freya I think I really should be the one to speak with him on this matter." She only shook her head and stood aside for him to leave. Her husband would never understand Jareth and his link to the mortal girl. It was old magic.

"Please Owain, this is important." Brows still furrowed he said no more and left. He knew that tone in her voice, it was the one that hinted at a knowledge far beyond what he had. And while he longed to understand he knew it would be better that he listened to her. Once he had left, Freya moved to her son, her hand resting on his turned back.

"Your Mortal?" Jareth remained silent, those two little words uttered by his mother making it all the more real. He nodded his head slightly knowing should be open his mouth to speak he would either yell or sob, neither of which he particularly wished to do.

"Well I think we finally know what that displaced feeling is now." Her voice was soft like silk, moving over him and soothing the hurt, even if it was only momentarily.

"When I saw her tonight she seemed so familiar, but somehow so wrong. It was her eyes you see, they didn't belong. That damned blue just didn't belong! But I ignored it, I couldn't bring myself to even think such a thing. What a fool am I?" The bitterness that flowed through his words could not have been mistaken. He had known from the moment he had seen her entering the hall that he knew her, he could feel it.

"She is so changed Mother, cold; cold like ice. It was not even just her flesh." He pushed away from the comforting arms that had been trying to sooth him, instead choosing to pace the length of the room like a crazed man.

The woman he had danced with tonight had been so far removed from the lively young girl he had fallen in love with. She was cold and her comments at times were cruel, there was not one hint of her old personality. Sarah might as well have been dead.

"Jareth, the curse upon Blackmore Isle changes more than just the physical appearance. Once it has fully taken over her she will be as heartless as Morana.

"I am sorry, if there was some way for me to undo what has been done I would, but it is out of my hands." Owain had made sure the curse put upon the young fae could not be broken easily. Freya had never before regretted demanding the use of the old curse, not until now. Never once had she thought what harm it would do to her family instead of good.

"She was suppose to be safe Aboveground, living her boring little mortal life! I should have forced her to stay, at least then she would be safe, she would be whole." He hung his head, leaning it against the wall furthest from his mother. Thoughts of how he could have prevented it ran rampant through his mind.

"Whole? Oh yes she would have been whole physically, but her spirit would have been broken. Could you really have done that to her? Torn her apart and forced her to stay? She wouldn't have loved you freely…" The way in which her voice trailed off at the end caused him to turn around.

"What are you thinking Mother?" Freya searched mentally through the conditions of her husband's curse, every loophole that had been left, every crack that had been overlooked. A small smile graced her lips.

"There might be a way to get your Sarah back, but I am not sure. The curse will always be strongest for those who it had been originally cast. Sarah had not even been born when your Father cursed the Isle. There is a chance that because she has been cursed secondhand coupled with the fact she is mortal that it could be broken without the need for Morana's original curse to be vanquished." It could work, the magic that cursed Morana had been setting docile for years, what had cursed Sarah would have been much weaker than what had been cast on the Isle.

"And how do you propose I break said curse?" He awaited his mother's words with baited breath. Jareth would have killed Morana if it would have freed her, he would have no qualms about tearing the woman's heart out by hand if it meant Sarah was safe.

"The same way Morana would break the curse, you need to make her fall in love with you. Your Father knew Morana would never allow herself to fall for another, it was a safe bet that the curse would never be lifted. But as I said Sarah's curse is weaker, should you get her to fall in love with you the magic binding her to Blackmore Isle and its curse should lift." He leaned his back against the wall, the air leaving his throat in a loud huff from the impact.

"Oh how wonderfully original Father was! Remind me to compliment him on his extensive imagination when I see him." The sarcasm positively dripped from his voice. Oh what a delightfully twisted _beauty and the beast_ tale this was.

"Yes, well, I never said I married him for his originality or intelligence. I do think I might have said the same thing to him when he cast the curse." Jareth rolled his eyes, he sometimes wondered about the stability of his parent's minds.

"I see only one problem in your plan though Mother." An elegantly shaped eyebrow rose midway up her forehead.

"And that would be?" Did her son, the _pretty boy king_ of the Labyrinth, doubt he could make a girl fall for him? True this mortal was stubborn, but she had been quite young when he had last pursued her.

"That she hates me. I do think that something like that would prevent her from loving me." Ah, yes that. Of course she never did say anything about liking him. One never needed to like the person you were in love with. Still, not that Jareth actually had to deal with such a snag.

"That would be a problem if she actually remembered you." It was Jareth's turn to raise his brows. He had forgotten for a moment that the Sarah he had danced with that night had treated him as a stranger.

"Morana may seem the idiot, but she is rarely a fool. The curse only changes their appearance and attitude, something which served our needs well. But she plans on Sarah being her heir, for this she will need to make the girl believe it." The corner of Jareth's mouth inched upwards in a smirk. Though Morana didn't know it, she had just given Jareth a second chance. This time he would be damned if he blew it.

* * *

_**"How dare he speak to me that way!"**_ Morana paced the confines of her sleeping chambers, the sheer blue of her robe fluttering behind her like wings. She had never been so embarrassed, to be scolded like a child in front of the Fae Court as she had!

Did he really think that just because he was the High King he could treat her in such a way in her own castle?! He was her guest, she had asked him to come, she had every right to demand an explanation. It had been his son who had sent her "daughter" off running, she really didn't see where he got off being the one offended.

With one last huff she sat herself down on the edge of her bed. The man was infuriating! He never could see reason, it had been that little problem that had her in her current predicament. She had tried and tried to get him to understand that she would make a better Queen than that little mouse of a wife of his. But had he listened? No.

He really had no wit about him. She wondered at times why she ever saw fit to love that man. Well she would just have to make him see how worthy she was to be his wife and how grateful he should be to have someone such as her giving her heart to him.

Deciding that she would speak to him in the morning, she laid down, falling asleep to the thought that she absolutely hated the man she was in love with.

* * *

The sound of shattering ice could be heard throughout the east wing of Rosebourgh Palace. Servants gathered along the corridor that lead to the new Princess' rooms. The shimmering shower of ice crystals fluttered through the chilled air creating prisms of light throughout the room.

Rhonwen ducked as another crystalline vase was thrown against the wall, her hair now coated even more in a layer of ice dust. To say her Mistress was angry would be an understatement.

Gwyneira had fled from the ball, desperately trying to put distance between her and the Goblin King. He had been quite handsome and she had enjoyed her evening with him very much, that was until she had allowed him to remove her mask.

What had it been that had infuriated him so? She had never felt fear before, not until she had looked into his eyes. Hidden just beneath the surface of those bright orbs had been a slowly simmering anger. The like of which she had never seen, nor wanted to again.

"That insufferable man! I have never been treated in such a way in all my life!" She could still feel his fingers in her hair, the way they pulled until she thought he would rip her head straight from her neck. The pain and anger scared her more than she wanted to admit. Something that upset her more than Jareth's actions.

Throwing one more vase before stomping off to the bathing chambers she vowed that she would make him pay for daring to touch her in such a way. High Prince or not, he would learn to never anger her.

Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapter, but this seemed the best place to end it.

Hopefully it won't take me as long to get the next chapter out, hopefully! This would have been done sooner, but for the spring cleaning in summer I had to do, pulling my back out till I couldn't move, and dealing with my grandfather being sick (Thank goodness he is better!!) And general writer's block on this chapter.

Ok, ok I know the whole "Falling in love to break the curse" is rather hokie and cheesy, but ok I have a bit of a weak spot for the typical "True Love's Kiss" fairytales.

Thank you to everyone who has already reviewed and faved, watched and read. I'm sorry I don't always reply, but know that I get your reviews and each of them make my day. :)

**Disclaimer:** I would think you already know this, but what the hell...I don't own it, sadly. But I do own tons of Labby stuff, including a copy of the novel that I paid way too much for, but like I care!! :D


	6. Baiting

Baiting;

* * *

Jareth flashed an uneasy smile at himself in the mirror. It was true that he was normally confident in himself, in his actions and decisions. But where Sarah was concerned…Well lets just say the ending to their first encounter had left him somewhat cautious when dealing with her.

After his mother had left the night before he had developed a plan, and then proceeded to question said plan over and over again. He knew he somehow had to convince Sarah, or Eira as the case may be, to fall in love with him. The thing was how to go about it.

His father's curse had thankfully wiped out all memory of him from her thoughts, but it also turned her into a heartless ice princess. He had to figure out how to melt that heart.

He had finally settled on a course of action that had been used by the nobility for millennia, he would first break her and then woo her.

Fixing up the clasp to the fur cloak as though he were putting on armor, Jareth swept out of his chambers to the dinning hall for the morning meal.

* * *

Unlike the night before, the dinning hall was much smaller. A single long table rested in the middle of the room, chairs along each side numbering just enough to hold the Blackmore and High royal families. Most of the guests would be taking morning meal in their rooms before departing for their home kingdoms. Only the High King and Queen and their children were to remain as guests for the next seven days.

Owain groaned as he toyed with the cold egg on his plate, he didn't remember anything about his curse depriving the Blackmore Queen of her tastes in food. He felt a pain run through his leg as his wife firmly kicked him beneath the table. Looking over he saw her give a weak smile and lift her fork full of half frozen egg before quickly downing it.

He nodded and followed her example. After the night before it wouldn't do to add injury to insult by refusing to break their fast with Morana. His eyes searched the table, Morana sat across from him in her position as resident queen, but still lower than most of her guests.

The girl, Eira, who his wife had informed him was an old acquaintance of their son Jareth's, sat only a couple of chairs down from him. Normally on a visit such as this their entire family would remain for the duration, but on the advice of his wife he had sent all but Jareth home. He never questioned why, it was simply easier to comply when it came to Freya.

"Is not your son to be joining us? Or have we offended him so much with our hospitality that he refuses to join in the morning meal?" Morana smiled cruelly, the white tips of her teeth just showing beneath her thinly stretched lips.

"Have no fear Morana, I merely oversleep. I was quite exhausted from your…_hospitality_ the night before. I would never even think to insult you in such a manner as you speak." Jareth smirked as he slid into the chair beside Eira. All eyes watched as the Goblin King filled his plate, completely ignoring the girl beside him.

"Should I inform your man servants to wake you earlier in order that you mightn't have to miss the morning meal?" Morana's smile froze as she spoke, she wasn't fool enough to miss the veiled threat and insult of his statement, just as she knew he would ne'er miss such insults in all her words.

"Nay, good Morana. I find that I have taken much advantage of your _hospitality_, and so for this reason I shall endeavor to make less use of it. In doing so I do believe that I shan't be tired out so." With that he raised his glass making the slightest bow with his head. The High King watched with veiled amusement the conversation between Morana and his son. It was only the woman at his side that watched the real exchange at the table.

The Princess Eira held her mouth tightly, her lips a thin line as she tried her best to conceal the glances she was sending towards the Goblin King. To those who focused on the insults flung back and forth between the Blackmore Queen and Jareth were ignorant to the princess' attempts to gain her son's attention.

The girl carefully played with the rim of her glass, and yet Jareth refused to look. She took deep breaths, extending her ample breasts slightly creating a full swell from atop the collar of her gown, and still Jareth refused to look her way. She coughed into her napkin, uttering a soft apology to the table, Jareth continued to trade insults with her mother.

She placed her hand atop the table, her fingers grazing his. He only pushed them away before raising his hand to take his water goblet. She slid oh so subtly in her seat, and Freya knew the girl's thigh would be flush against Jareth's. And yet he only crossed his leg beneath the table and turned in his chair to face his father.

Eira fumed, she hated being ignored. This man, who just the night before had her wrapped so tightly in his arms as he twirled her about the dance hall, was now acting as though she were no more than an annoying dog yipping at his feet.

She would not stand for it! She had done no wrong against his person and yet he had abused her in the most horrendous manner, and to add to such an insult he gives no apology and ignores her completely. What ill will did he bear against her that he would treat her so? She stood abruptly, her meal let mostly untouched.

"If you will excuse me Your Majesties, Mother, I am feeling unwell. I will retire to my chambers. Good day." She bowed swiftly and left as soon as the High King and Queen bid her farewell. Freya hid her own smile as a slow smirk spread across her son's mouth. Eira was as good as his.

"It seems even the Princess has overindulged in your _hospitality, _Morana."

* * *

Eira leaned against the edge of her vanity, her hair falling to cover her face. She clenched her hands around the cold ice edge till small cuts ran where it pierced her skin allowing a drop of blue syrupy blood to splatter at her feet.

"M'Lady, please, you will do yourself an injury." Melusine wrapped her hand around that of her mistress' carefully prying it from the sharp ice.

"A dog, Mel, he treated me like a dog at his feet! He ignored me as though I was of little concern! Me! Does he think so highly of himself that he refuses to acknowledge me?" She shut her eyes tightly waiting for her Lady in Waiting to cleanse and wrap her hands.

"You should rest M'Lady, it is unwise to work yourself up like this." Eira waved the young woman off to pace the room. Her dress whipping about her as though a great wind had blown through the chamber.

"I will rest when I please, for now I must think. The High Prince thinks he can get away with the way he has treated me, thinks he can just ignore me and that I will do nothing. We must prove him otherwise." A smile spread from the corners of her mouth. Her Ladies in Waiting wringing their hands at the strange gleam in her eyes.

"Melusine, prepare a bath. Make sure to use the oil from the green crystal bottle, no other." Mel curtsied low, her eyes on the floor.

"Of course M'Lady, at once." Walking to her wardrobe Eira began to search, pushing dress after dress aside. After a few minutes the remaining Ladies in the room flinched as the heavy door to the wardrobe slammed shut.

"What was my Mother thinking when she had these commissioned?

"Rhonwen, go to my mother's chambers, there you will find a chest. Bring it to me, but be careful not to drop it.

"Luned, fetch the Fairy Diamonds from the vaults." Eira stood silent as her Ladies curtsied and left. She would make sure that Jareth wouldn't be able to ignore her. He was an arrogant man, but a man none the less. She would drive him to the brink of insanity with lust for her and when she had him in the palm of her hand she would crush him with her very fingers.

* * *

The cracking of brittle parchment and ice echoed as Jareth opened another book. He remembered as a child, before Morana damned herself, he would spend much of his time within the castle library. It seemed like such a waste now, every tome was little more than great blocks of ice. And if one were lucky to find one that could be opened, the parchment cracked and split, turning to cold dust at their feet.

"Interesting approach my Son, though I wonder at the wisdom in ignoring the woman you are supposed to make fall in love with you." A soft laugh erupted from his lips. His mother was a wise woman, but she had only loved one man in her life. She had been young when she had married Owain. Before that she had spent most of her life in study.

Jareth on the other hand had spent his youth with the ladies of the Court. He knew how to seduce a woman, how to drive her to insanity, make her want him till it hurt.

"It is very wise Mother, rest assured. Sarah will be mine, and free from the blasted curse. It will take time and patience, but it will happen." Freya laid a hand atop her son's arm, holding on firmly.

"How can you be so sure of that? She will grow bored with you soon enough, and you will have to go to her on hand and knee to beg for her to have you." Jareth patted her hand and slipped from her hold.

"No, Mother. She will be the one begging. Just wait for this evening and you will see." The grin that spread across her son's face was unnerving, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he had up his sleeve.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for how late it is, been busy, but hopefully I'll have more time for writing now. Also I know this is short, but thought this was a good stopping point.

_**Also, once I am done with my current Labbys I plan on writing another one, in fact I have I don't know how many lined up. On my Author's Page there is a poll. Click the links to find a journal entry to a preview of the story. I have four up and I have everything ready to write each of them. I thought I would allow the readers to choose which one they would like to read next. I will write the one with the most votes next and go on from there. The poll will be open until I finish "This is My Winter"**_

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.**


	7. Beautiful Death

_**!!!IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!**_

_**While I have been without a computer I have been unable to work on any of my stories, not to mention i have lost all my notes. Because of this I have lost where this story was going. Now I am not abandoning this story, but I have come to realize that I am not very happy with this and want to put it aside until I am able to really go over it and re-figure out the plot. So I will put this on hiatus until then, but instead of just not updating I will go ahead and start a new story. It will not be one of the ones on the poll, I will still be waiting to post that one until I finish "This is My Winter."**_

_**Instead I will be posting another one I have been working on for awhile, the first chapter should be up in a few days if not sooner. **_

_**But don't think I am abandoning this, as I do love the idea, I just need some time to read it over and work on the plot a bit more, then I will retrurn to posting it.**_

_**Look for "The Fire Stone" in a few days!**_

* * *

Beautiful Death;

Even though the sun shone brightly, covering everything in its mid-day light, Jareth nor any other could feel its heat. His father's curse blocked warmth from most everything lest the ice which encased Blackmore melt.

It was troubling, to see the sunlight on one's skin and yet not feel even the tiniest prickle of heat. Shaking off those thoughts Jareth turned down another snow packed path in the gardens. Eira had been absent from the noon meal, which hadn't been at all surprising. About now the girl would be seething about the fact that Jareth had not only ignored her at breakfast, but also had made no inquiries about her well being after she stalked off in a huff. A grin spread across his lips in a slow sweep that allowed for just the slightest peek off sharp teeth to show through.

Just down the path from him stood none other than the object of his thoughts, Eira. Her hair was once again hanging down in waves that had been dappled in crystals. She wore a dress in a style more fitting with the rest of Blackmore, even from this distance he could see the tips of her breasts peaking through the sheer white cloth.

What once had been a young brat of a girl stood before him as a vision of a strong willed woman. Her smile was smug as she strolled her way towards him, no doubt she believed that her revealing garb and glistening skin would be enough to entice him. And maybe they would have had she been anyone but who she was, _his_ Sarah.

He knew should he give into her now when all was but a game to her she would be gone from his bed in the morning. No, he was out to win, and keep his prize. The smile fell from his lips as he turned to observe the bush of frozen roses at his side.

"Elegant, are they not?" Eira slowly ran a fingertip across one ice encased petal as she stepped up beside him. Her nails were painted a blue so dark one could easily mistake it for being black. It scraped across the ice chipping bits of it off and onto the skirt of her gown.

"Maybe if one finds death to be attractive, then they are absolutely charming I guess. But I find no such elegance in frozen decay." Nails could be heard digging deeper into the flower as Eira tried to keep from lashing out. This man was infuriating!

"There is a sort of beauty in death, if one looks hard enough. I would think that a man such as yourself, Your Majesty, who delights in all things fine would be able to appreciate that.

"There is a moment just before the end when all is calm, a sort of serenity that one can not find in life. It is then that you can see the beauty in it. And here it is captured, a garden forever on the brink of death. It is…peaceful." An eerie quiet descended upon them. To hear these words coming from the mouth of Sarah was disturbing. A girl who was once so full of life and imagination now spouting forth verses on the splendor of death! It burned his chest to see what this curse had done to her.

"Um, yes, well…I was under the impression that you were ill. Should you not be resting instead of out wandering around?" A soft smile turned the corners of her mouth as she gazed up at him.

"I take it you are concerned for my well being? I thank you, but you have no need to worry I am well now. It seems all I had need of was a bit more sleep." Jareth had to contain the impulse to roll his eyes.

"Who said I was worried? I was merely stating a fact. When one is ill one should be resting. I care not who they are." Her smile fell so quickly it was almost comical. She sniffed and stood up straighter, the slight breeze bringing the scent of her to his nose. Roses and orange blossoms, a strange yet calming mixture.

"Well, what brings you out here, Your Majesty? And all alone at that?" She took a step closer, the fingers that had been tracing the flowers now drawing small circles along the side of his arm. He repressed a shiver at the coldness of her skin.

"Your Mother, she is…tiring. Quite obsessive actually, the way she clings to my Father when Mother is not around. I grew bored with the display, thought to find some quiet within the gardens." He turned a distasteful look at her and pulled slightly from her touch.

"Apparently I was wrong. If you will excuse me, I think I will have a lie down before evening meal." Not giving her time to comment he turned and left, his heart clenched tightly within his chest. No matter how much he longed to take her into his arms and steal her away he knew the time was not yet right. He would have to be patient, no matter how much it killed him.

* * *

Owain groaned as he reread the page for the fifth time. How could his wife be so cruel as too leave him alone knowing that that insufferable woman would do everything in her power to annoy him almost to the point of murder? He was seriously considering disregarding his wife's wishes and have that woman executed!

"I am bored. I feel like a walk, would you join me in the gardens Your Majesty? They are quite lovely at this time of day." Morana leaned her back against the window as she turned pleading eyes on him. He huffed and shut his book. _**Insufferable!**_

"Maybe some other time Morana, at present you can see that I am busy. Should not you be as well, Matters of State maybe?" A quiet sniff was all the evidence that Morana was at all put out, by all outward appearances she had allowed the High King's words to roll off her. She gave a warm smile and sat down in the chair across from him, picking up her own book.

"Such matters are what I have Lord Rowan for. I am sure you have a slew of men to delegate responsibility to. Anyway, you are my guest and it would be wrong of me not to see that you are _entertained_." Owain thought he would gag, to think even after the curse which he subjected her entire kingdom to she still would not leave him alone. What was that mortal saying? Stubborn as a mule. Yes, that fit perfectly seeing as it wasn't very hard to picture Morana as a mule. He had to stifle a chuckle at the absurd image.

"Believe me Morana, I am in no need of entertainment, only quiet. So if you are so worried at the moment about presenting a bad image I suggest you see to the amusement of either my wife or son. Seeing as they are both your guests as well." Morana bit her lip, amusement, really! Did the whole Underground think her some kind of joke? She slammed open her book and began to read, she had no intention of spending time with his wench of a wife or pompous son.

Freya smirked from the doorway where she had been silently watching her husband and the persistent little slut. She sometimes bemoaned the fact that she had been moved at all to pity the woman. Had it not been for her ingrown need for mercy that had been ingrained into her by her family she would have never interfered in her husband's affairs.

Watching now the interaction between Owain and Morana was almost comical, the woman just wouldn't take a hint. It seemed it would be up to her to put her into her place. Quite appropriate actually, sometimes it took another woman to settle matters such as these.

* * *

The evening meal was much the same as breakfast; Jareth had cleverly insulted Morana and her kingdom all the while Eira tried to seduce him into acknowledging her presence. It had worked one or two times through the evening, though not as she would have wanted. Jareth had made the effort to speak with her only in order to ask for something or other. Freya could see the girl was livid.

Once the meal had concluded Jareth had left with ne'er a word or glance to the Princess. She had to admit that by the way Eira looked at her son's retreating back he had been correct, it wouldn't be long before he had that girl begging for him.

* * *

"I should make it a law that you, my dear and oh so loving wife, should not be allowed to leave my side when THAT woman is anywhere near!" Owain paced the slick floor before the cold and empty hearth of their rooms. The only reprieve for the continuous torture of the Blackmore Queen had been during the evening meal, and that had only been because his son took so much pleasure in insulting the woman. Not that he was complaining or anything.

"And just what makes you think that I wasn't there?" Freya raised an elegant curving eyebrow, the smirk on her face enough to unnerve him.

"You! You were watching that embarrassing display the whole time and never deemed once to come and rescue your husband and King from the clutches of that unbearable beast?!" A soft giggle escaped her lips as she fixed her hair for bed. Her husband was a bit melodramatic at times.

"Oh she is hardly a beast, maybe a bit uncouth, but far from a beast. And I was merely observing, besides I did think that being the High King of the Underground that you would have been able to handle one measly little woman." Owain's mouth set into a thin line, the flesh around his lips slowly fading to a snowy white.

"I will have none of your cheek, Wife! Anyway that is all beside the point. You are my wife and partner, should not you have saved me from harm?" Freya could not help the roll of her eyes. Pathetic!

"Hm, yes harm. Well seeing as you are completely intact my interference was unneeded. But do not worry, Husband mine, I shall take care of everything. Sometimes a woman just needs to be…_reminded_…of what belongs to another." At this Owain lifted a brow, he had never seen his wife so possessive. He himself had acted in such a way before, but he had never thought his gentle wife had it in her. It was quite thrilling actually.

"I belong to you, do I?" Freya set her brush on the vanity and slowly walked her way to her husband.

"That you do, shall I remind you of that fact?"

* * *

Author's Note: Ok, well that took me a long time! Sorry about that, I ended up getting sick and have just recently stopped trying to hack up my lungs every few seconds, though now my ribs are killing me. Anyway, sorry if this is a bit short, this story seems to be giving me a bit of trouble. I think mostly because it decided to change itself from the plotline I had originally worked up, so it might take a while for me to get everything going smoothly. But hopefully it won't take too long, at least not as long as last time.

_**Also, once I am done with my current Labbys I plan on writing another one, in fact I have I don't know how many lined up. On my Author's Page there is a poll. Click the links to find a journal entry to a preview of the story. I have four up and I have everything ready to write each of them. I thought I would allow the readers to choose which one they would like to read next. I will write the one with the most votes next and go on from there. The poll will be open until I finish "This is My Winter"**_

_**:::If you have trouble getting on the links just PM me and I will send the previews through PM instead.:::**_

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.**

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